


Some Magnetic Way I Move

by Shenanigans



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Blood Play, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Drug Use, F/M, Fishsticks, Human/Monster Romance, I am laughing at myself for thinking, Jason Todd is a mer, Just not yet, M/M, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, and will eventually be delighted to have a magical merperson in her life, drops this and flees into the night, i thought I was going to write fluffy monsters, i'm a monster, implied polyamory with ollie/dinah/hal, lian is mentioned, mer!jason todd, now with soft epilogue, referenced jade/roy, roy and a lot of fucking, roy is self destructive, this is monster fucking guys, unbetaed we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: Roy is a salt water hobo who has been seeing something impossible most of his life. Jason Todd is a mer who can’t seem to stop its fascination with the human. Roy might be going crazy, but that's just what falling in love feels like.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 46
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [macabrekawaii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrekawaii/gifts).



> this is... something. Good luck, god speed. Title and quote from Pablo Neruda's The Sea.

and my life changed suddenly:  
as I became part of its pure movement.

-Pablo Neruda

The first time Roy Harper sees it, he's thirteen and waist deep in the tidal water. The high tide pushed into the tangle of the mangrove cluster, pushing the flock of white ibis to hop and stalk through the muck, ducking curved bills into the deep to pluck the skittering black fiddler crabs with a delicate artistry. He had his net, skien tucked into his mouth and weights ready as he looked for the splash of irritated mullet. He's sweating; a mess of sunburned shoulders and peeling pink nose under the thick blue tinted shades, a bandana holding his scraggly red hair back as he shifts with the lolling press pull of the tide. He can hear the highway noises to the west, the long bridge skimming the bay water and stitching Tampa and St Petersburg together. 

It's a flash of something large and scaled, black and lateral line a quick flicker of red. He'd blinked, net hooked over his teeth or he would have lost the hold as he stared where it flipped once and rolled to turn, a human head and torso pushing up to reach for a pale bone colored branch. Roy was sure it was a boy, blue eyed and unreadable watching him in the shadows.

Now, he lived in a small cove just off of Gandy boulevard, tucked behind the Crab Shack and before the tidal electric plant, hiding near the preserve where no one looks for scrawny truants. Roy had planned his escape in idle moments during Wednesday history class. He hadn't intended to ever have to follow through with it.

He hadn't intended a lot of things, but he had found the old two story houseboat where it had been abandoned years prior. It lolled on one side, the green line of muck high over the platform and one metal pontoon wagging where the webbing had snapped, every window busted, and a small pile of rags that stank of piss and raccoon scat. The platform was intact under the slimy astroturf and the electrical system needed to be rewired, but the stove could be hooked to a propane canister and the second floor was structurally sound.

At thirteen, hungry and bony hipped, he'd just tasted the musky salt that stained the netting and believed he'd finally just lost his mind. He was hungover, shaky and a little nauseous after the wild redneck beach party the night before. They'd built a bonfire on the small spit of sand that ran tight to the Gandy just before the rocky jut of the small outcropping that signaled the start of the bridge. He'd been on his back, smoking a joint and staring up at the sky. Above was a clear sky, the large lumbering thunderheads out further over the bay, crackling and lighting up in a strobing sort of beauty that throbbed in the background. The big energy plant was a soft smudge of orange and pipes against the low dark murk of the mangroves. The killdeer spent the evening chasing the low lick of the waves on the shore, back and forth almost in time with his breath.

Roy had been thirteen and fucked up: tripping on two hits of acid a girl with stringy white woman dreds had tipped onto his tongue, drunk on cheap vodka, and licking the taste of peppery backyard weed off his teeth. The drums had silenced long ago, the headlights of a few big tired jeeps pushed into the bay water and disappeared, the sand under the hoods white and tracked with footsteps. 

Almost everyone was packing up, having found hands and mouths for the night. Roy was alone, feet in the water and back in the sand, it tangled in the salt mess of his hair, scratched at his skin, and reflected the heat of him back until he wriggled a little- colder just past the dry surface and hard.

"You okay, kid?" Someone asked, he didn't remember their name, just that they had handed him the handle of cheap vodka.

"Yeah. M'good." He drummed his fingers on his stomach and waited for everyone to leave. They always did. He didn't want to go home, didn't want to climb into the cheap prefabbed trailer with it's clanging metal door and slightly uneven stabilizers. The floor felt cheap, wobbling under his pale freckled feet.

He lived with his father's best friend, Brave Bow, but the man had succumbed to his alcoholism when Roy was ten, disappearing into the bottle and living off the casino dividend check he'd earned by being born on the res. Roy didn't remember his real dad. He'd met his mom once, a skinny redhead who'd stared at him in terror from behind red rimmed eyes and meth scabs. He had pretended not to see her where she was standing (working) on 34th, just swallowing and pushing forward on his spray painted dirt bike.

Roy preferred this man's passed out indifference to the bouts of drunken sadness that left him sobbing over the spindly table in the kitchen. He spent most nights roaming the hazy blue edges of the streets, casting fishing lines off of the short bridges that stumbled around at the edges of the city, and napping in the shaded spaces carved in the mangroves. He went to school when he was hungry, plowing through the government offered breakfasts and lunches, skipping in the afternoon, and grinning at the leathery black man with neat hair and kind eyes who bought the buckets of mullet to smoke.

He'd been thirteen and staring at the boy who stared back at him before the shadows had shifted and a soft clicking hiss had slid over the water and Roy had watched the boy's mouth open to a mess of spiny needle teeth.

He'd decided if he was going crazy that he wasn't going to be scared. "Fuck off, this is my spot."

The creature had blinked, darting back and chittering before slipping underwater again and the flicker of tail barely rippling the dark surface of the tidal waters.

"I saw a mermaid... man- merman? Fish person, once," Roy told the bartender at the strip club that had a package liquor store attached. He was almost eighteen. He'd had a decent fake since he was sixteen and they knew him here. Dinah had aged out of dancing, but she was still pretty with soft blond hair, crooked sharp smile, and legs that still looked delicious in fishnets.

"Bullshit, Harper. That was a manatee and you know it." She shook her head and refilled his glass.

Roy tapped his finger against the lip, staring at the cheap vodka and shrugged before tossing it back with a grin. "Would've been somethin', yeah?"

He knew it wasn't a manatee. He'd gotten used to the wire brush snuffling whiskers they pressed at him when he floated languidly near the waving fronds of seagrass. They were warm, blubbery behemoths that would puff water at him before skimming in a slow bob to the next outcropping, large bodies buoyant and laced with a few darker gray scars. They didn't have the sinuous flicker of red tinged fins, the deep blood red line along the sides, and the wide thickly lashed blue eyes that watched him in the shadows.

If it had been just the one time, just the day-after-fog tripped up in the tangle of his net then he'd be content, but it wasn't. 

He'd been scrubbing the astroturf with a stolen deck brush when he'd seen it again. The sun had been wasting away where it simmered just beyond the horizon, long slanting golden light tinting the world pink and lavender. The boy, the creature, had surfaced ten feet from where Roy was muttering profanity and working with a single minded fervor. He had been sixteen, gangly, and in need of a safe place to sleep. He'd set his own nose, blood crusting his top lip and two thick bruises black each eye. He could still taste blood when he swallowed, viscous and over sweet where it dripped down the back of his throat.

It clicked at him, pale lips curled back from those translucent teeth. It clicked at him and Roy closed his eyes.

"Man, I haven't even dropped today. I don't have time for this shit." He huffed, stopped scrubbing, and pointed directly at the phantom. "What the fuck are you supposed to be? Like, my conscience? My fucking lost childhood? A wet dream? Cause I really need to get this finished. I have to get the damn strap restrung somehow and then I nee-"

The thing moved closer, water breaking smoothly around it's bare torso, hands skimming over the water's surface. They were webbed and Roy congratulated his psychosis on maintaining a level of realism he could appreciate.

Roy had felt his skin prickle in warning, hands gripping the wood pole of the deck brush harder before he forced his lungs to work. The thing slid closer, watching him with a wary sort of curiosity as its dark curls started to dry, a messy slippery tangle of blue black that dripped around its face. Roy watched those dark lashes clump and spike before it darted forward in a quick sinuous curve to place prickling fingertips on the edge of the boat. It clicked again, a low throbbing sound and Roy had to exhale harshly at a flicker of movement along the boy's sides, gills rippling over his ribs before flipping closed again. It had been a stunning flash of pink and red, alive and Roy blew out a breath when the boy heaved up slightly, pulling at the edge of the houseboat's platform and the whole thing moved.

" _Fuck_."

The creature's mouth moved in a parody of the word, a hissed sound skimming over it's lips. It swayed, the sluggish breeze rippling over the mangroves with a shiver of sound and blowing roy's long hair around his face. He swallowed and found his footing, grabbing the bucket to pour more water over the deck.

"Okay... okay then." He started scrubbing again, shoulders aching. "Thanks."

"Are you talking about your mermaid again?" Jade slammed into the stool next to him smelling of crumbled sweaty dollar bills, vanilla body lotion, and sweet hair spray. She tilted her head at him, beautiful under the heavy eyeliner and black hair. She was a vicious little vietnamese woman with perky tits tipped with tight dark nipples and a cheshire grin. She had grown up in Pinellas Park and was going to school to be a dental hygienist, but she was mercenary and loved taking money from drunk white boys with asian fetishes. They'd done some community service together after Roy had been turned in for truancy and Jade had stabbed a boy in the thigh after school with a pencil when he tried to touch her without permission. 

They'd been fucking regularly since Roy was sixteen and too horny to breathe. 

"No."

" _Yes_."

Jade laughed, shaking her head and reaching to stroke a small knowing hand over his thigh, sliding higher and catching his eyes. "I've got fifteen before my next sh-"

"Let's go." Roy nodded, tossing his drink back and followed her as she picked her way through the thin afternoon crowd to the back. He liked her tiny lithe body with its dangerous hips and sharp tipped tits that felt like they could cut his palms when he fucked her. She didn't need anything from him. He didn't need anything from her.

She would plant a hand on the long mirror and watch him over her shoulder in the reflection as her other hand worked her clit while he held on and fucked her with quick deep snaps of his hips. She was hot and tight; her sequinned striiper thong just shifted to the side to make room for him as he watched her face, the line of her back, the swing of her dark hair, and the way she left his dick shiny- ruddy and thick where it stretched the pink of her. He liked to touch, to see the flicker of where she was red and warm and alive.

He tried not to think about the ripple of gills along the creature's side or the way his eyes were the same color as turquoise shoals. 

"Fuck, I love your dick, Harper."

Roy never brought her home. He never brought any of them home.

"You're better than this," the bartender told him when he sat back down, flushed and grinning.

"Dinah," he started. "You know I fuckin' love you, but I am a fuck up and-"

"Roy." She had that look on her face, the one that made rich men trip over themselves to give her everything they had, to give her anything that would make her focus on them for a moment. "You're better than this."

He ducked his head, closing his eyes and thinking about the way the mangroves would smell sticky and rancid in the summers, the salt flats curling up under the roots before the tide slide back over the muck. He closed his eyes and thought about the crackling itch of the astroturf on his back as he baked in the long summer afternoons, feet idle in the bathwater warm water. He thought about the way his skin would heat and dry, peeling angry over his nose. He thought about the way the osprey would scream and the cormorants would stretch wet black wings on the rungs of the cell tower built into the end of the bridge pier. He thought about the way the fiddler crabs would wave him over like weed dealers at a concert and the soft wet flavor of stone crab claws boiled right after harvest.

He thought about the smoked mullet spread he'd thumb into his mouth and hold out to his impossible inhuman visitor with a hope, like luring one of the rangy mottled feral cats from a dumpster to steal a bit of chicken. He thought about the way the boy was growing, scarred and broad shouldered with black curls and a wicked smile. 

He thought about the long Florida rains that slapped down and rumbled in an incredible show of lightning and elemental rage.

"I love it here," he said finally, barely more than a whisper before shrugging.

He'd flinched the first time it had touched him, expecting skin and shocking slightly at the sandpaper rough texture. He'd imagined it like his own or like the boiled egg feel of dolphin skin. It had startled back, eyes wide and unsure before slipping underwater and disappearing.

She reached and tipped his chin up, holding his gaze. "It'll be here when you get back, darlin'."

"I'm going to enlist," he told the creature where it was watching him from the edge of his houseboat, pale webbed fingers curled over the edge of the platform. 

The blue eyes didn't look away, narrowing and mouth opening to chitter a noise that echoed slightly before tilting back and ducking underwater with a rustle of gill again, the dark curls slick to his head and salt water streaking over its cheeks to drip from the point of its chin, from the end of its nose. Roy liked the way water pebbled on its skin, pooling in the almost human arc of its collarbones. 

Roy was flat on his back and smoking an idle joint, vowels choked around the burn in his lungs before he exhaled in soft almost gulped billows. He let his head turn, blinking at the almost-boy in the moonlight. He knew the scar on its face, the one that striped through its brow and then curled its lip. 

The creature had made a sound when it was hurt that seemed to shock through the water, billowing out to find Roy and rattle the windows of his home. He'd stumbled out of the hammock he used as a bed, tripping over where he'd left his clothes on the ground and clattered onto the deck in his briefs, eyes searching the dark. The noise was inhuman and pained. He still heard it in his nightmares. He'd gone cold with terror when it had surfaced, bleeding and half dead with a long harpoon hooked through its side and barbed head spiked from its back. 

Its body had rolled belly up, blood almost black where it billowed in the water and head lolling as it whined the softening noise of pain.

Roy hadn't thought, just jumped, splashing into the water to reach, pulling it close, the rough textured skin catching on his as he'd tugged and grappled it onto the flat of his houseboat.

"What the fuck?" Roy had flipped his hair back out of his face, staring down at where it had blinked up at him, blue eyes black in the moonlight and body inhuman. The harpoon had pierced the vulnerable gill and it's webbed fingers pulled feebly at the shaft. "Stop that."

It clicked angry noises at him, showing it's sharp teeth with a tetchy hiss.

"I know, but you are going to make it worse. Sit still you fuckin' asshole," Roy muttered, ignoring the noise as he stared. The creature’s tail was over seven feet long, its torso male: broad and pale in the moonlight. Its abdomen was thickly muscled and a slow prickle of tiny glittering scales started under where its navel would have been and spread until the join seemed seamless, the tale lithe and glittering- nearly iridescent as it trembled and watched him with wary glazed eyes. The gills gaped along its sides and Roy could feel the exhales hot against his knee where he was bent.

The harpoon had to come out. He swallowed, staring at the boyish face, the way the lines of its mouth and jaw were going sharper with age. 

"This is going to hurt."

It nodded and for the first time Roy thought maybe it could understand him and he placed his hands carefully: one on it's shoulder and another at the scaled flesh where it's hip would have been. He blew out a breath and pulled, the skimming screech of noise rattling his bones like he could feel it in his teeth. He moved fast, grabbing the head of the harpoon, the shaft the small two foot from an underwater gun used by scuba divers and he sent a prayer to a god he didn't believe in and pulled.

The scream echoed, lost in the mangroves and the moonlight before it belled out over the bay and blended with the human sounds of sirens and long haul trucks stuttering air brakes. Roy was sure his ears would bleed if it lasted longer, but the creature went silent and slumped still.

Roy had scrambled up, running for the small kitchen to grab a roll of paper towels and then a roll of duct tape. He considered the first aid kit, snagging it before darting back outside. The body lay in a pool of sticky glistening blood and he could see the soft flicker of its lungs working.

Impossibly, the wound had already begun closing, smaller and sealing up now that the harpoon was removed.

The creature had opened its eyes and looked at him, face pale and oddly soft in the moonlight. It panted, a soft tremble running under its skin as the dorsal fin waved and the smaller fins stretched and lay flat again. 

This close he could see the way it seemed human; it was handsome with a full lipped mouth and deep wide eyes with thick lashes. It wore scars like a fighter, striped over it's knuckles, slashed over its face and lighter over its chest. there was a patch of discolored scales that showed another injury. Roy reached, careful and slow and touched over where he thought it's heart would be, feeling it flinch and then settle into an uneasy wariness. Its heartbeat fluttered fast but growing in tenacity even as the gills stitched together as he watched.

It blinked, eyes going wide before staring up at him, batting his hand away and hauling towards the water with a trebled noise. It floundered, pained noises hissing as it hefted over the side and into the dark tidal pool again. It resurfaced, snarling and shook the water from its hair before touching its fingers to where Roy had felt its heartbeat and pointed at Roy. It snarled, teeth and threat in the moonlight before it had flipped and disappeared.

"Well fuck me then." Roy stared at the mess of blood on the deck of his house, on his hands, on his pale feet. "You're welcome, asshole."

It had been months before it showed up again, pushing just its eyes above the surface to watch Roy where he idled at home.

Roy talked to it as he fixed his stove, as he worked on the motor- fingers black with engine grease. He explained what he was doing and let the creature push close.

He only told people about it when he was drunk, slippery smiled in a black out and swaying into the mouth on his jaw, the sticky feel of lipstick on his dick, or the prickle of stubble that would leave red rash marks on his back. He told people about it when they had their hands tangled in his red hair. He tried to smile when they laughed at him, shaking their heads at his wild lies.

"My mom was a mermaid in Weeki Wachee," a beautiful brunette with green eyes told him as she let him lay face down on her bed and stroked hot fingers over his hips. "I could have been," she continued before smacking his ass and grinning at him. "You want me to be a mermaid for you?"

Roy had almost said yes, but her skin was soft and warm. He was eighteen and lost. He fucked a gasping northerner just outside the airforce base in a shitty bar bathroom, covering his mouth when he mewled and pushing his fingers over his tongue to shut him up. He liked the jingle of dog tags against the headboard when he fucked him again later. 

"I could see the world," he told the pale faced creature that watched him smoke the joint in the dark later that week. "I could get a bonus. Get some sort of structure, you know? Maybe that's what I need, man. Just some structure."

The pale face hadn't said anything, just reached and Roy held his breath at the curious trace of a clawed finger that spread rough skin over his stomach. It was getting bolder and Roy was losing his mind. He shivered, turning his head to watch the creature look at where it touched him. Roy was hard, aching in the dark.

"Maybe you should get out of here," his best friend told him. Dick was a beautiful black haired boy who lived in Sarasota with his family. They were circus folk- a full trapeze set up in their backyard and the neighbor owned thirty two tigers that Roy could hear roaring sometimes when he visited. It wasn’t strange in this part of Florida. The Ringling museum and the lingering money made allowances for all sorts of strange sights.

Dick was clear eyed and beautiful, but Roy was just a freckled sunburned Florida cracker who'd met him in Juvvie. Dick was going places and Roy was blacking out in bars and fucking strangers in alleys.

"Can't." 

"It's killing you."

Roy shrugged. “No one makes it out of this alive, Dickiebird.”

He'd woken up next to someone two mornings later, thighs sticky and mind confused as he blinked around the bare room. The mattress had no sheets and the body next to his was bruised and alive. He had pushed to his feet, padding around the space naked before finding his pants and his flip flops. He'd puked in the bushes, unsure of where he was in the blinding white Florida sunshine and the press of a hangover that was just getting ready to shiver into him. He'd grabbed a solo cup from the steps, swigging the day old beer and grimacing at the flavor of ashes and frowned at the floating cigarette butt.

He'd had to walk home. He'd had to paddle out to his boat and then shake through sobering up with a whine. 

"I really hope you stay here," he'd told the creature that night as he slipped off the edge of his platform into the warm salt water, a skimming touch of some sea grass tickling his ankle as he held on to the platform and watched the boyish face in the dark. "I don't think they'll let me stay if I'm certifiable."

He swallowed at the way the creature pushed closer, clicking a curious noise that echoed in the soft warm space under the pontoon and back between them. Roy reached, careful and held still when it flinched, looking between his hand and his face before blinking once and letting him touch. Roy carded his fingers into the wet black hair, startled at how silky it was before exhaling. "Please?"

It made a soft noise, a new noise, a quiet crooning sound and Roy could only think of those perfect golden hour sunsets and the feel of home. It felt like a lover's smile and the feel of a laugh pressed into his skin and the ache of fire's heat prickling over his shins and the boy's blue eyes watching him in the dark. It belled and bloomed in his lungs, making his mouth water as the creature's throat throbbed with the sound.

Roy woke up alone, hair stiff with salt, sun crisping him where he lay on the scratchy astroturf. He'd enlisted the next day, determined to make a change for the better.

In the end, he doesn't go as far as he was hoping- not at first. He's shipped to Fort Leonard Woods in Missouri before being transferred without much warning after he'd taken his first qualifying round at the rifle range. He'd been flat on his stomach, picking up the pop up targets with an ease that seemed normal, snagging extra rounds from the ground around him when he'd moved through the initial forty and popped two into the center of the 300 yard. He liked the way the rifle felt in his hands. He liked the way it kicked. He liked the soft smell of gunpowder and hot metal. He loved it more at night whenever fifth round lit up red and glowing as the rubber tipped tracers went skittering into the sky under the crackle of gunfire around him.

He found himself in sniper training. He found himself with a specialized rifle and a regiment of trained soldiers.

He found himself in love with the First Lieutenant of his platoon when they finally sent him overseas. Officer Troy was a stunning woman with startling blue eyes, pale skin, and silky black hair. She had a sharp smile and warm palms. She kissed him like maybe he could be important, lingered and arched into his touch before he sank reverent to his knees and lost himself in the taste of her, the feel of her sharp fingernails scratching red lines in his pale skin.

The endless desert was familiar only in the endless heat that pushed his pale skin into patches of thick freckles and peeling skin. They'd cut his hair in basic, shearing him into a haze of ginger fuzz and pink pale skin. He had a tan line over his forehead from the sand-colored bdu beret they wore in the desert. He had a tendency to strip down to the brown undershirt, sand colored pixelated pants, and soft suede leather boots. It was easier to wear the endless dust against his skin that way.

"I want to go to the islands," Donna whispered as she bent close, letting her hair tent around his face as he groaned and shivered as she fucked herself down on him in the dark.

"Anything, baby," he whispered, voice cracking as she bit at his bottom lip and rolled her hips in a steady rhythm. 

"I want to see the blue water.” She pulled his hands to her tits and worked herself harder on him. 

“Anything.”

“Right there, yes. _Fuck_ , Harper," she moaned, pale skin going blotchy and warm as she went wetter around his dick. He ducked forward to catch a pale pink nipple as he gripped one hip in a calloused hand and pushed his other between them to thumb at her clit. "Oh _god_."

She would break and shake apart, clenching around him and he'd hear that soft impossible sound in the back of his head, the belling bloom of want made real. He'd think for two startled hot seconds about the rough wet of inhuman skin before slamming into her in ragged desperate pulses.

Donna was beautiful and competent. She kissed him like he was important and dragged him to the beach somewhere outside of Greece. They hopped around Europe on leave and he'd stayed sober out of spite. He'd wanted to be better for her.

He sits in the sand on a Greek Island and watches her rise out of the water in a black bikini bottom covered in tiny white stars and bare breasts, heart twisting into something that feels like forever. He watches her flop onto her back, the way her tits spread and sink to the side with the weight of them and leave sea water beading on the pale skin of her stomach.

"I'm going to buy a camera," she'd tell him, tongue pink against her top lip while he strokes a hand over her hip, loving her in easy touches. "Maybe I can actually do something with all these pictures I take on my phone if I have something real, you know? I don't think I can do this forever."

"You'll be amazing," he told her, earnest and devoted before smiling against the happy pleased kiss she pushed to his mouth.

"You're it for me," he told her when she moaned soft aching sounds into the pillow, hair catching on his lips as he muttered next to her ear. He rocked into her, pushed and pushed and yearned. She laughed, breathless and breaking as she reached back to grip his hair where it was growing out.

"Flatterer. Now, fuck me _harder_."

Roy would give her the world, but he'd settle for what she gave him.

"You're it for me," he told her when they lay tangled in the dark.

"You're it for me," he told her on one knee, chest tight and hands shaking as he held the small gold ring up with his face burning with hope and nerves. He could kill a man without shaking, could pull a trigger and watch an enemy pop in pink mist, but this terrified him.

"Oh, _Roy_ ," she breathed. He hadn't understood yet that it meant no.

She leaves him for a Captain named Kyle and Roy falls in love with oblivion.

"I was the one worth leaving," he tells Dick, wet eyed and cotton mouthed as he blinks up at the ceiling in some dirty hovel in Jalalabad. He's learned to shoot up between his toes, exhaling any problem he has ever had and surrendering to the soft golden hour feel of heroin. He'd started with a bullet hole in his side, startled and bleeding as his squad pulled him through the dirt. He'd been stitched up, given a purple heart, and a bottle of Percocet.

He had watched the scar form, glacially slow and thought about rough skin stitching together as he watched. The further from Florida he was, the more it felt like a fever dream, something he'd imagined to fight the loneliness of his youth. 

"I saw a mermaid once," he'd told a tall marine who wore her red hair in a long ponytail that counterbalanced the scowl.

"Yeah, sure, and I fucked a centaur," she replied, voice flat as she picked up her beer and left him alone. 

Roy palmed a pill, downed a shot, and drowned on dry land.

He meets an italian woman named Helena who likes knives and sighs into new scars after each night he spends tied to her bed. He thinks about sharp webbed fingers and the slice of scales as she cuts neat lines into his skin and uses him. He likes her dark hair. He likes that she could kill him. He likes that she's dangerous in the dark.

He sleeps with a beautiful man in Denmark with warm brown skin who shot-guns weed so strong it makes his head spin.

He lays face down while a couple with an expensive speedboat does lines of coke off his back, two fingers stretching him open as he mouths against the smooth skin of her thigh. She fucks him with toys while Roy chokes on his dick, nose numb and skin buzzing.

He's freckled and fading, a photograph of himself left in the sun to curl up and disappear. He uses the money he gets from pawning the ring to have a thin sharp woman with drawn on eyebrows and a split tongue ink his right arm from chest to forearm. The tattoo is long looping art that scabs over and leaves him feeling like she'd beat him with a baseball bat instead of sitting with a thin frown and a tattoo gun for hours.

He remembers thinking _finally_ when he trips over the edge of the rich couple’s speedboat and cracks flat into the water, shocked and sinking. They’re somewhere in the mediterranean. The water feels warm too quickly and he misses home. He thinks about fighting.

"Come on, Roy," Dinah would tell him, two long fingers tucked under his chin as he'd stared at her over his bottle of beer. She'd blink at him, the closest thing he had to a mother working in the strip club he'd had to leave behind with Florida sunshine and the memory of wanting something impossible in the dank heat. "You're better than this."

He closed his eyes and screamed until he ran out of breath underwater, the noise making it to the short circumference of the bubbles that skittered to the surface and broke silent in the dark. 

_Please_ , he thought as the dark closed around him.

Something slams into him in the darkness. There's an impossible press of weight and motion, the feeling of movement and the ache of pressure on his bones. He feels rough skin under his palms and feels safe. 

_Please_ , he thinks as he blacks out.

He wakes up on a beach, sand under his skin and missing the scratchy feel of astroturf and the slow rock of his houseboat in the tangle of mangroves. He wakes up on a beach and wants to die. Roy is used to disappointment and the Army ships him to rehab in Germany.

"You've gotta stay sober no matter what!" A huge man with a scaly scar gruffs at him while he shakes over a styrofoam cup of coffee. He'd been insulted when the man had only filled it half full, but as it sloshed side to side and burned his knuckles, he understood. "Sober even if your balls fall off!"

Roy had choked, startled and confused, but sipped the coffee and came back the next day. 

The man, Waylon, had clapped him on the shoulder with a huge hand and grinned at him, it felt sharp and predatory. It felt familiar. "Balls fall off yet?"

"No?"

"Good. Now sit down, take the cotton out of your ears and shove it in your mouth. Time to get you fuckin' sober. You don't know shit, so pay attention, kid."

He's shambling to two months sober when Jade calls him. "I'm in trouble, Harper."

"What else is-"

"I killed a man," she interrupts, impatient and sharp as always. He can hear her skin shifting against the mouthpiece as she talks fast. "You have to come home. Your kid needs you."

"I'm sorry, my _what_?"

"Shut up and get on a plane."

Roy meets his daughter, Lian, for the first time when he's twenty two and she's five. He takes one look at her dark hair, assessing eyes, and unimpressed mouth and decides not to re-enlist.

Roy steps out of the luggage carousel at Tampa International Airport and walks directly into a wall of humidity so thick he can feel it start to curl his hair before he's made it two steps. He grins, taking a deep breath, gulping like he could drink it before hitching the green duffel over his shoulder and waving a hand at Dinah as she pulls up on a beautiful flat bar Triumph and an extra helmet. She grins at him, sharp as a bird of prey, and he tosses a leg over the motorcycle and settles in behind her. He laughs, fingers going tight for a breath as she tears out of the shaded pick up lanes and out into the white hot sunshine.

He leans back against the awkward bulk of his bag and looks to the right as they cross the Howard Franklin bridge, watching the flick and frolic of seabirds before grinning at the quick fin of a dolphin where it arched back underwater. 

He sees the long warm water expanse of the bay, tastes the brine on his tongue, and it feels like a joint settling back into place.

Lian is staying with Dinah and her partner in a big house out on the finger spire isles that the rich had built into the shoals on the eastern edge of the Peninsula. Roy was standing at the edge of the small public beach that looked out at the power plant and the low scumbling green of Weedon Island. He bought a kayak from the brand new salt sport store that backed up to an insect infested open bar filled with tourists that spilled out into the grimy redneck beach of his youth. He dragged the small ship to the water and launched.

He paddled past the tourists, past the flat bottomed fishermen and through a small channel cut into the mangroves, ducking out of the way of the low branches and the small black bodies of fiddler crabs dropping out of the limbs to skitter out of sight. He turned, finding the deep tidal pool and set the paddle over his thighs and stared at his home. 

The houseboat sits in a squat square of windows and neglect. Roy is used to hard work and hot sun.

It takes him almost a week to scrape the barnacles from the sides. It takes him two days after that to reseal the windows. Another week to replace the rotted out spaces in the flat roof. He strips at the end of the day, taking a quick step off the side of the boat and slips into the warm Florida bay water, letting it slide loamy and soft around him before surfacing and shaking his head. He pulls himself up, grabbing a thin towel to start swiping at his skin when he hears a clicking.

The pool is almost perfectly round, thirty feet wide and brimmed with mangroves. In low tide, the water is almost clear and fast running. He can see mullet idling in the shallows and shares the space with elegant white egrets that hunt in quick spikes of terrifyingly sharp beaks. He watches the small round leaves of the trees shiver in the endless clip that skates over them to eddy and flicker current across the water's surface. In high tide, the water lifts them, going murky and obscure. It rises and falls, lifting Roy and his home before letting them settle again. 

He's anchored near the tunnel entrance and he's been alone for almost a week, living off of some red fish he'd baked and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He's left for two hours each day to make a meeting at a squat sober house that still has walls yellowed with nicotine and coffee cans outside full of cigarette butts. The twelve steps are posted on the wall next to the traditions and a few framed slogans. He likes that they've turned over 'Think Think Think' and gotten used to the fact that they clap about everything here.

The creature is right where he'd left it. It has one long pale arm up to grasp the spindly branch and is watching him from the shadows. He's sure he's not supposed to think it's beautiful, but it is.

It looks human, broad shouldered and blue eyed. It's not handsome like people expect, large heavily lashed eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a bloodless full lipped mouth. He can almost feel its stare.

"You came back," he tells it, fond and warm around the way his throat goes tight.

It huffs a noise at him and slaps its palms against the water’s surface in a quick staccato, telegraphing it’s annoyance clearly. 

“Well, I’m home now, aren’t I?” he mutters, towel flickering against his thigh as he stands naked on the flat deck. The creature watches him and he swallows, lifting his chin and letting it drop to hit the astroturf. He clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, holding his breath.

The water barely shifts as it drifts toward him, ducked low and pressing through the deep waters. Roy watched the dorsal fin lift, the deep red spines arching up and waving where it’s tail swished side to side. It chitters back at him, eyes narrowing before it opens its mouth, air whistling through needle sharp teeth. It had a cadence, a rhythm as the creature pressed close to the deck, curling those webbed pale fingers over the edge. Roy could see the press of talons into the gristly fake green. 

Roy swallowed at the way his mouth went dry under the creature’s human feeling gaze, the weight of it possessive and dark. “Miss me?”

The creature shoved onto straight arms, dripping before leaning out to curl a cold rough hand around his ankle, the bone cupped in a palm before it pulled. Roy felt the way his body went hot, dick twitching against his thigh in a soft pulse of interest as he turned his wrists out, fingers loose at his sides, and took a small step forward into reach. “I’ll take that for a yes.”

“Yesssssss,” a voice hissed, sibilant and creaking like new leather and silky water logged wood.

"You talk now?" Roy managed, shaking at the prick of talons against his skin, the feel of blood running over his skin and puddling under the arch of his foot. He watched the creature roll, arching and stretching until it was on its back, the quick flicker of gills slipping shut and sealing over with a glimmer of something viscous before it's mouth opened on a quick sharp breath, nose flaring and panting around a few soft noises.

It was shifting, undulating in a quick shiver of muscle that glittered on the small overlapping scales. It's lashes dried into clumps and dark hair smeared on the green. It looked expectant and calm. 

This was their time: just as the sun kissed the horizon and beautiful orange with a long slow glow that pressed Roy's skin nearly flush and burnished his hair into something like fire where it curled into his eyes. He swallowed and sank to a squat, thighs spread as he shifted, fingers skimming over the rough warm skin of the creature's stomach. It hissed a low noise that eased into something belling, something that rattled in Roy's lungs as it vibrated in the golden sunset air.

"Want to know a secret?"

"Yessssss," it hissed, voice firming as it moved a hand, curling around Roy's wrist to hold his hand where it pressed into it's skin. 

"I missed you, too."

Roy moved to his knees, letting his skin press into the tender flesh of its side. He shifted, putting his weight on one hip and curled slightly before stretching out next to it. It turned its head, watching him up close and touched a lock of his hair, curious before letting the ridged pad of it's finger trace over his nose and then hooking a curved claw against his lip. Roy shivered, exhaling shakily at the touch, the sharp prick of threat this close and the trained strength cording in its arms. 

It touched at him, pricking and curious before Roy realized it was touching his freckles one at a time and then lower to scratch along the black lines of his tattoo. He felt the way it lingered there, stroking over the unfurling petals of inked flowers, tracing the designs and form of it before slipping against the soft skin at the crook of his elbow.

His breath hitched at a slowly welling flare of heat- of desire. It was an old want, hidden and locked under layers of loneliness. 

“I can-?” Roy touched himself, once with a quick squeeze and shiver as he shifted, restless and wanting under the light tracing fingers. He watched its eyes flick down, focus on his nakedness and then back up.

It tugged, pulling him closer and Roy froze when it pulled up, stomach muscles cut in sharp tensed lines and rubbed it's rough skinned jaw against his; its mouth open and hissing through a soft murmured clicking before pressing to pant hot breaths against his skin. He let his hand fall, touching against its ribs and the viscous fluid that smeared over it's sealed gills. It was inhuman and impossibly beautiful. Under him it waited, vicious and dangerous, before opening its mouth wide, translucent teeth touching light against the thick muscle of Roy's shoulder before the quick spiny press of a tongue darted and tapped against him. 

" _Oh_ ," Roy choked, struggling to stay still as it tapped against his skin, wet and impossibly hot, ridged under the prickling pain of teeth. "Do you...?"

"Yessss." He felt the brush of its lips. 

"Please," Roy whispered, curling a hand against the back of its head and shocking through the bite, the long thick press of teeth that locked into his skin and hooked as the creature pressed tight, pressed close and thrummed a low belling sound against his blood.

 _Mine._ The word formed out of a press of meaning that crackled across his mind like the strobe of lightning- electric and sharp in a deep warm tone. It was compelling, honest and effervescent, lighting him up from the inside, coiling deep and hungry in his gut as he gasped and shook through a throb of pure want. _You’re mine._

Roy could hear the sound he made. He could hear the aching whine, a needy mewl that snapped in half to rumble into a growl as he tightened his fingers and stretched. He rutted and rubbed impatiently against the warm rough skin of its side. He couldn’t find purchase, couldn’t slip a knee between thighs, couldn’t do anything but hang on and want, dick hard and smearing against its body as he went desperate and trembling under the touch of teeth and tongue. 

The creature held on, arms moving to rasp and wrap around Roy’s waist, pulling him as it settled onto it’s back. He hissed, the tight clasp of teeth ripping and tearing slightly, the pain a sweet shock that had him scrambling to settle his knees on either side of scaled hips, dick swollen and pointed as he tried to find anything like purchase, like relief. He turned his head, smearing his mouth against the salt stiff curls, flush spilling up his neck and out over his chest as its hands settled at his lower back and then flexed, pricking at him and anchoring him so he couldn’t move without injury. 

_Mine._ The sound belled in his head again, resolving into something like speech, like a deep possessive voice scraping over his brain. _Belong. Mine. Yes._

Roy wanted. It was the one thing he’d always craved, terrified to be found out for needing so desperately, for wanting so cleanly. He shook, breath hitching in short little moans that rasped against the back of his teeth as he rubbed and fucked at the inhuman skin. “Yours.” 

If he was wrong, this would break him. He knew it.

The creature released, mouth red with blood and it was like a scream, like a defiant howl in the night the way Roy could only see the face of something beautiful, something handsome and wanting with slick red lips and blue eyes full of desperate longing. The thing startled when he leaned forward, mouth watering and pressed a kiss to its lips. He tasted blood and the brine of the sea, the soft wet of deep waters and the careful warm scent of shells in the sun. He cupped it’s jaw and let go, let himself want the impossible. Reckless with desire he reached down, reached between them at the sudden press of heat and slick wet cresting against the inside of his thigh.

It was erect, hard and slippery under his palm as it pressed up, growing and stretching from the long dark slit just under the lightly scaled navel. This part of it was pink and hot, blood warm and swollen as the creature snarled and Roy understood. He curled his hand around it, around them both and stroked. It hissed a sound like water sizzling on stone and the desire sliding in his brain matched the slippery slide of its cock against his.

Roy watched them move together, forehead tucked against the creature’s jaw as he watched the long thick length slide against his, under his fingers and the way his dick looked slippery with the coating that smeared between them, pulsing pearly precome to mix. He swallowed, feverish and frantic as his toes curled, calves knotting and thighs tense with the need to fuck and take and own and claim. He smeared his mouth against the blood on its lips again and felt it heav under him, rolling to smack him against the astroturf, head cracking against the deck as it held him down. 

_Want. Need. Claim. **Mine**._ It writhed against him, cock a long hard line that rocked against his stomach, against his hip, smearing and slippery as it noised that low clicking hum, the siren song a slow bass thrum that caught heat in Roy’s lungs and tipped his heartbeat impossible and sweet. He knocked his thighs against the nearly painful cut of scales, hooking his ankles together and took it. He came, helpless and noising under the way the noise belled out, filling the space, filling him, and spilling outward like rippling concentric circles to sink into the tangled roots of the trees. 

He was overwrought, the touch too much, too sweet, nearly painful when it shuddered to a stop, bite shockingly unnoticed as it stilled and spilled over his stomach. Roy knew he was bleeding, shredded and raw from claws and teeth, but he couldn’t tell what was blood and what was come, couldn’t tell where the pain radiated under the bliss of the soft low note echoing against his jaw as the creature’s entire torso thrummed like a plucked guitar string, Roy the body that carried the music left behind.

He tried to move and it hissed, fingers and mouth clenching him still, unwilling to let him go just yet. Roy stroked over the back of its neck, fingers touching the soft silky black hair and then over the knobs of spine. He touched the dorsal fin, the sharp blood red spine lifting to smack and then settle, fluttering in time with it’s breath like the slow shocking shift of a lover after sex, finding its limbs again in a slow stretch.

“Okay, I won’t move,” he whispered, voice rough and fucked out as he went limp, letting his fingers explore in light strokes that sparked shudders of muscle to quiver under its skin. He was used to being used, this felt different.

It lifted its head, wiping the blood with a quick dab to the back of its wrist and then tonguing the last from the edges of its mouth. It looked at him in the dark with those endless sea colored eyes: quixotic and changeable under the tangle of its black hair. It bent, stroking its jaw against his again, a soft careful touch that felt more intimate than Roy understood. 

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

It purred, pleased. Roy was finally home.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is entirely for Mx. Who loves this fic more than I thought possible and I am eternally grateful for it.

Roy tells it on a hazy golden Sunday in November, the sun slinking under the haze with a toss of pink angora into the world. The air feels soft, the gentle lapping of salt water against the sides of his kayak a light rhythm, the slap slap slap of tiny waves in the wide glassy flat of the bay. This was Roy's favorite time, the golden hour where the wheeling flocks of gulls would dance, reflected in the seas' surface. He could follow the endless v of a few ducks paddling along the estuary mouth, the tide wall to the south where the dolphins were streaking, vicious to the slow moving mullet they were eating. He liked the sea like this, because when the creature broke the surface, the flare of its nostrils as it rose a short exhale, he could touch the ripple with a light finger before it would badger its hair into his palm. 

"Hey." He carded his fingers into the wet curls, scraping them away from its face with a crooked smile. The sound of its claws curling to hold the lip of his kayak were a sharp tap under a low uttered clicking as it opened its mouth, pressing the sound through the silvery spines of its teeth with a hot hiss of breath.

The creature pushed stubbornly into his touch. 

"I have to move," he told it, wetting his lips and forcing himself to look at the horizon. He had to look away from the thick spiked clumps of its black lashes, the curious and demanding blue green of its eyes matched the color of sunlight in shallow shoals. "Can't stay on the boat with a kid."

"I don't think you understand me," he sighed. 

The nose of the kayak dipped as the creature shoved it down, forcing Roy's focus back to where it was waiting. If he looked he could see the massive black and red of its tail, the way it curled and undulated lazily in the warm bay water. 

"I can't afford waterfront. Hell, I can’t even get an apartment on one of the canals. I can’t raise her on the water. It’s not safe."

He'd been in the kitchen, the small spare space on the boat. He'd been in the kitchen cooking a pot of spaghetti-O's with cut slices of hot dogs on the single burner. He'd been singing along to the radio, happy and off key. The song had filled the space, filled the small square of the living area he shared with his daughter. Lian was five and curious with Jade's beautiful black hair, the wide round shape of her eyes, and Roy's crooked smile. 

He'd taken her home on a Tuesday, shifting awkwardly in the borrowed pair of dress pants and the too small dress shirt under the unimpressed eyes of a judge. He’d been so fucking careful. He'd gotten a haircut. He'd gotten a year coin at the small nicotine stained sobriety shack to a smattering of applause and whooping cries. He'd gotten a text from Waylon that simply asked: _balls fall off yet?_

He'd been sober a year and three days and his daughter had almost drowned because he wasn't paying attention. He hadn't heard the splash.

The houseboat sat up on four long metal pontoons strapped together. There was a ladder that led into the water near the front, but no rails. The edges were covered with the slippery green astroturf. It had been enough for him, but he didn't live alone any longer. It wasn't just him he had to live for.

Lian had been too shocked to cry, just choking out the water where she'd been thrown back onto the boat with a thud. The cricketing cry sliding into a riotous wail startling Roy on an inhuman note. He'd rushed out of the rickety door and onto the deck, choking a panicked noise at the sight of his daughter saved by something else. He’d gone cold with realization even as its clawed hands moved to grip the edge of the boat as his daughter choked and puked up brine. 

He’d been making dinner and it had saved her life.

"I have to make her the priority," he kept explaining even as he shifted, moving to slide the paddle into the hollow leg space, tucked against the back of his seat. He kept moving, pulling off his shirt to tuck into the waterproof storage bag. His pants followed. The creature clicked happily and slithered back, slipping low and watching him from where it waited with just its eyes and the crackling salt heavy curls that were drying in the sunset air. "I'll find a way to come see you."

He heaved up and fell over the side, an awkward tangle of limbs as he rolled in the loamy salt water and flipped his hair out of his face with a laugh. A truck's air horn stuttered across the water, finding him as the creature found him. He could feel the slippery rasp of scales against his thighs as it pressed close, possessive and claiming. It tapped the hard touch of tongue to his shoulder, nosing at the scattered scars that mottled his freckles. It marked him.

It had watched him, wary as Roy had chugged back to the houseboat the next day after a night at the hospital. Lian had been safely tucked into a guest room at Dinah's new husband's house. The rich man had called him son and Roy had frowned. The man had offered to pay the bill and Roy couldn’t afford his pride.

He’d sat on the astroturf and cried as it had watched, confused.

“I don’t want to leave you.” Roy let it wrap its arms around him; he let his knees knock at its hips. He held on. He could feel the ache of its question rumbling in his lungs where it noised at him. He could feel the absent pricking touch of its claws. He waited, hungry and breathless.

The creature opened its mouth and Roy moaned at the sharp press of its teeth, the pain of it, the need of it. He felt it speak in his bones, felt the claim in the hazy pink sunset. It always hurts. 

_Mine._

"God, I wish I could be." He felt it wanting him, felt it unfold, and took what it gave.

He didn't see it again for three days after he'd scrambled, spent, bleeding, and sad into his kayak. He didn't see it as he packed up his belongings. He didn't see it as the wound on his shoulder scabbed over, but the ache in his lungs never healed.

"I'm not moving into a fucking trailer," he'd told Dinah over the wide marble island in Oliver’s kitchen between the hospital and the touch of its body against his at low tide.

The man’s house was a sprawling ranch style with a wall of sliding doors that faced the short sawgrass lawn and out into the bay. He sucked his teeth and a small part of him wished he was drinking something else from the cold glass bottle, but he was drinking Mexican coke and cold in the air conditioned house. The floor was mottled terrazzo that slipped up and down a few small steps to create rooms by elevation change. The living room settled in a divot to the right of the heavy carved wood front door. It’s set with an expensive dove gray sectional and vintage movie posters featuring Errol Flynn. There were only three interior walls: one creating a bedroom, another a bathroom, and the demarcation to the three car garage was the third. He focused on the short lip of the canal wall, avoiding the idle wealth of the boat hefted onto the bracers and the wide expensive dock. There was an in-ground pool that leaned invitingly into a smaller three person hot tub. 

Roy hadn't mentioned the night he'd walked out of the guest room to get water from the fridge and heard the murmured moans and light splash. He'd seen Dinah's head fall back onto a brown haired man's shoulder as her newest husband- Oliver, bent his blond head to lap at her rosy pink nipple. He’d caught the way they all moved together. He'd just turned on an adroit heel and padded away from her private life and curled back around his daughter's restless sleep. 

"I didn't say you had to move into a trailer," Dinah answered, that same no-nonsense tone she'd used as his bartender for years. "But you can't raise a kid on that boat. What if there's a hurricane?"

"We could stay in a hotel for a little while."

"And school? How is she going to get into a good school if you're a hobo with no address."

"I have a PO box."

"That's not the same. You know you need a street address."

"She's not in school yet." Roy had felt petulant. He'd felt himself clinging to the one thing that was only his, this fascination, this fearsome creature that touched him in the salt water and whispered want into his mind. It was his. It was _his_. "I have time."

"She _will_ be. She's five. Get your shit together." Dinah had crossed the space and kissed his hair. "You're exceptional, Roy Harper. Believe it. You deserve more than you can even imagine."

"I'm trying," he'd whispered.

"I know."

So, he packed up his heart, packed up his house, and made a choice. He sat on the edge of the platform, dangling his feet to swish back and forth in the water. He wanted to say goodbye. 

"Daddy!" Lian would beam at him, small frame so light, so fragile. “Watch me!” 

She would sputter and paddle around the pool in bright orange floaties and a frilly green kid swimsuit. She'd burnish in the sun, tanning in an easy way Roy almost resented as he smeared thick white sunscreen onto his shoulders, the tops of his ears, the backs of his knees. He had a reason to live now, a reason to try and avoid things like skin cancer. 

“Daddy! Are you watching?” She would splash and make a wild mess of motion, half-swimming half-kicking in bony flails through the water. 

He couldn’t look away. He'd sit up and watch her sleep, mouth open and fitful in his bed. He'd sit up and make sure she ate. He'd sit up and live for her.

"I have to go," he told the dark tangle of branches, the soft gray press of mangroves when it came to watch him ferry his belongings from the boat to the shore. In the moonlight the creature matched the silver and shadows, the slick wet of its skin monochrome and beautiful. It was black and white and shades of gray like a tattoo Roy couldn't afford anymore.

He wanted to slip off the edge and into the water. He wanted to flop into the sea and be selfish. It cocked its head at him, dropping its arm and ducking to smooth through the space, the flicker of dorsal fin breaking the reflection of the moon into ripples before it followed, the closest he'd seen on its face to pleased. He knew what it looked like angry, claiming, wanting, desperate, pained, and the longing sort of irritated that it wore most often. He knew what it looked like intimately. He knew how it watched him move on it, how its pale eyes went dark and wet looking in the night. He knew the way it-

"I don't want to. I want to stay with you. But, I have to think about her now. I"ll save some money. Get a boat. A real one. Maybe if I get lucky at the card table I can get a down payment or something. I'll... I-" He cut off when it smiled at him. 

It had dimples and terrifying teeth, but the simple joy was plain as it ducked underwater, a flicker of shiny scales before it broke the surface and heaved something onto the deck of the boat. The weight of it bobbed the pontoon on the left side, setting the houseboat rocking before settling back to stable. Roy gripped the edge and held on, the water marking its depth against his shins. 

"Yesssss." The sibilant croaked noise always startled him and Roy glanced at the gift, the barnacle covered box. The hinges a swollen rust filled mess of iron and an ancient looking lock. It slapped a webbed hand to the astroturf, impatient and pleased.

"For me? Aw, baby, you shouldn't have," Roy muttered with a laugh, confused. 

"Yesssss." The creature snorted, shaking its head and then reached, gripping the ancient lock. Roy watched the strength cording in its pale arm, the flicker of muscle impossibly strong. One quick flex and it broke the iron lock. 

It could be gentle. It could be violent. It could break things, but it never broke him. Not in any way that mattered. Roy had tipped his head back on the dock, eyes falling shut at the light careful trace of its fingers over his chest, exploratory, gentle, and so tender he had to struggle around the welling emotion in his chest.

It didn’t wait for Roy to catch up, it never did. It pushed the lid- the hinges breaking with a wail of noise, and the top fell off to slap onto the deck.

The gold inside glowed. 

It was an impossible sight, just the warm yellow glinting in rough shaped coins marked with matching sigils. Roy blinked, staring at it- this incomprehensible wealth tossed like loose change into a styrofoam cup. He stared, shaking in the night air until a rough skinned hand spread over his thigh, the claws careful as it skimmed higher to the crease of his hip under the loose pant leg of his cut off shorts. The creature chattered at him; it clicked, curious and excited. 

The world blurred. Roy wondered if he was underwater, if he was drowning, at the way everything seemed to wobble wetly. He couldn’t breathe, his chest too full, swollen around the weight of his heart.

It made sense when the creature lifted itself up, mouth soft against his cheeks as it tasted the salt of his tears with a delicate kiss. It pulled his gaze and stared at him like Roy understood what it wanted.

“Yours.” He huffed, ducking to kiss it, ignoring the startled cut of its claws when it gripped him at the touch.

It nodded. "Yesssss."


End file.
